


Baptized in Blood and Flame

by The_trash_cannot



Series: The Mortality of Immortals [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Apocalypse, Dagor Dagorath, Destruction of Arda, Elrond is an exasperated uncle, F/M, Flashbacks, Glorfindel deserves representation, Kidnapping, Lots of main character death, M/M, Mind Control, Minor genderswaps, Multi, Noldor - Freeform, Noldor Thranduil, One-Sided Attraction, Prophecy, Silmarillion fanfiction, Slight Battle of the Five Armies Fix-it, Slightly out of character Thorin, Suicide, Thorin's more apathetic towards elves, Torture, Traumatized Thranduil, Unrequited Love, everyone is problematic, void
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-09-12 02:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16864858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_trash_cannot/pseuds/The_trash_cannot
Summary: Tauriel Thranduiliel had run away.  She couldn't take it anymore; after the death of her mother when she was scarcely 100 years old, her father had become more and more protective of her and her brother, Legolas. It broke her heart, but finally, she slipped past the guards and into the dark forest.She couldn't have then imagined the chaos and destruction that came after.Or, alternately: a "Tauriel is Thranduil's daughter who may or may not have black magic" AUThis story is also posted on Wattpad





	1. Introduction

Since the elves had awoken under the stars of Varda, before Oromë had found them singing their songs, before the Noldor and the Vanyar first beheld the light of the Two Trees, they had begun to dabble in magic. The elves, being the first children of Illuvatar, possessed a great talent for magic. Over their millennia, they became more skilled, shaping themselves and the world around them. The elves of the greatest power became noble families.

When the Silvan elves moved eastward after the destruction of Beleriand, they were lead by a Noldor, who they took as their king. In his house, there were great gifts of magic.

Oropher, one of the first Quendi who awoke in Middle Earth, who with his sons crossed the Grinding Ice because of his deep friendship with Finrod of the house of Finwë, gifted with control over light, which shines from the stars or the moon or the lights he crafted of living stone to light his kingdom.

Thranduil, born under the light of the two trees, gifted with a talent for illusion and glamour; in making people believe and see what was not truly there.

Aglarad, the second son of Oropher, who could summon the winds of Manwë to aid him, and whose soul was gentler and kinder than the soft summer breeze that chiefly held his love.

Then, in the First Age of the Sun, Oropher and his sons swore an oath to the King of Doriath and his kingdom, and Thranduil met and fell in love with Arvuin Elenathiel, the young daughter of Melian and Elu Thingol. The magic of her mother flowed strong in her veins, as it did in her elder sister, Luthien. It strengthened the magic of the house of Greenwood, bringing even stronger powers to their children.

Their son Legolas was granted the ability to understand and speak the ancient language of the trees which he loved so deeply.

And Tauriel, born into a world slipping again into darkness, was given a gift of fire. Only the hottest of flames could harm her; a gift which would suit her well in her battles. Of course, as a young elven princess, she was mostly unconcerned with battle. So young was she when her mother was slain, that nearly no memory remained. She was raised sheltered and safe. Hidden away from the beauties and pains of the world.

_**•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•  
Third Age: 2472** _

Tauriel leaned over the rail of her balcony, craning her neck to see the gate. Her sharp eyes easily picked out her brother's platinum hair as soon as he stepped out, leading the rest of the patrol out. She watched them until the last quiver vanished behind the ancient trees of the Woodland Realm.

Being the younger of the royal elflings, she had few duties to bother with. Her Father never noticed if she slipped away, as she had moments before in order to watch her brother enter the woods. No one would look for her for hours, at least. Now was her chance. 

Making sure there was no one who could be watching, she took a few steps back before running into a leap that carried her over the balcony and through the air until her feet landed on the wide bough of a tree. Even the smallest boughs that branched out from the trunk were wider than her, so she felt no fear as she lightly scaled to the ground. Once her feet touched the leaf-covered earth, she broke into a run, sprinting with the strength of a wild horse and the silence of a cat.

It was an easy path, all she had to do was avoid the routes that she knew Legolas led the guard along. She began to hear a low roar in the distance, which meant she was nearing her destination. 

Tauriel could see the fallen tree that marked the end of her path; she ran and leapt upon it. As she reached the end, she flung herself from the bluff that the tree protruded from. She closed her eyes and braced herself a moment before her body hit the water. The rays of the sun pierced through the water, turning it a rich gold, with honey-colored bubbles swirling around her. Even the silvery fish that swam through the cress and reeds were of brass. She gasped for air as she broke the surface again, flinging her wet, red-brown hair out of her eyes. Smiling as the warm sun drifted through the trees, Tauriel calmly drifted to the shore of the lake. 

She climbed out of the water, wringing some of it from her auburn hair and lilac gown. She kicked off her leather boots and collapsed onto a large, sun-kissed stone, basking in the feeling of being free. For once, no one had any control over her. 

As she rested, she began to hear someone approaching. She smiled again, only one person with such an anxious gait would come here. Tauriel sat up as Radagast the Brown emerged from the forest. 

"Anduigil! I expected to find you here," He cried. Anduigil was the name he had given her, Star of Dusk, for the light he said that she was in the growing darkness of the world. Faerelon she had been named by her father, Spirit of the River, for she was indeed as wild and untamable as the enchanted river the elves of Greenwood so revered, for it protected their realm. Tauriel was the name given by her mother, who had died so many hundreds of years ago. Tauriel and her name were the last remembrance to her family and the kingdom of Queen Elenathiel. 

Radagast continued. "How has your brother fared?" 

"Very well," She said with a smile. "Ada's councilors say he will make a great king one day, though he tells me he dreads the time when he must take up the throne." She was quiet for a moment. "He says the kingdom would be safer under the rule of another." She shook the thought away and shrugged her shoulders. "Adar says he must be king one day whether he wishes it or not." Her eyes drifted back to the water of the lake. 

Radagast felt his heart sink as he saw the girl so melancholy. Thranduil had pushed his children away for over a thousand years, since the death of their mother. Elenathiel had been captured by orcs near the Misty Mountains, and taken to their stronghold of Gundabad. Thranduil had lead a charge, but she was dead by the time the orcs had abandoned the mountain fortress. Her death, so soon after the deaths of his father and brother, left the king a bitter and broken elf. He never allowed his children to leave the underground realm, save rare occasions under his own guard. Legolas had eventually been allowed to lead the guard within the forest, but she was still kept within the palace. 

Tauriel had grown resentful of her father, who seemed to only care about her if she went against orders, so she became sly, sneaking away at every turn, teaching herself to fight, eavesdropping on every conversation she wasn't supposed to know about. She started finding ways to escape her confinement, finding or making hidden ways into the forest, even going so far as to spend a night in Dale! (Her father had been irate after her return, but she no longer cared.) 

Radagast, not overly fond of rules either, had taken quickly to the girl, trying to be what Thranduil should be to her. Keeping her out of the worst of mischief, but encouraging her freedom-seeking.

"I'm leaving," she announced suddenly. "Radagast, you've been a dear friend to me, and my home will always be close to my heart, but I can no longer live away from the sun. I can no longer passively look through a clouded window at the world! I will be a part of it, whether my father wishes it or not." By the end of her speech, she was standing on the rock, arm outstretched, looking every bit the Noldorian princess she was. 

Radagast only placed a hand upon her shoulder. He had long anticipated this decision, but the elleth had grown as dear to his heart as if she were his own daughter, and his eyes glassed with tears when she announced her going. Only a few more quiet words passed between them before she set out for her home, heart and head high with the intent of never again returning to the carved halls of her father after that day.

__**•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•**  
Third Age: 2934  
Five hundred years later 

When Tauriel first began to slip back to her body, she felt nothing. The sense of a body assured her that she had not reached Mandos, not yet at least. How was she not dead? She certainly wanted to be. Naïvely, Tauriel thought that she might be some where safe, but that was soon dashed as a strong wind made her realize the numbness was caused by an overwhelming cold. Her face was towards the dirt-or where dirt would be under the thickly layered snow. As the numbness began to leave her, it was replaced by a dull, bone-deep ache, and a much sharper pain in her stomach.

She was able to force her arms under her, and digging her knuckles into the snow, she pushed herself up and into the wind.

Remembering the power she had used before, she held out her hand as far as she dared. Tauriel tried to remember the way the magic felt as it was used, the way to tap and harness it. She could feel the magic there, just below the surface, churning through her blood and bone, waiting to be used. But she did not know how, and the magic flowed sluggishly, awkwardly; only manifesting as a puttering flame in her palm that failed to banish any cold. Cupping both hands and clenching her teeth, she tried again. A flame the size of her pointed ear flickered, brightening her spirits a small bit. 

In a burst on pain-fueled determination, she let out a cry and a burst of magic. Wings appeared at her back, and with one powerful stroke, she soared above the frozen wasteland.

The death of Arda was coming.


	2. A Lone Elf

_**Third Age: 2935** _

His back ached from the heavy load of supplies he had recently ridded himself of. Kili enjoyed the freedom of being on his own, and these deliveries to remote mines were the best opportunity, but the heavy loads of weapons and tools were beginning to take their toll.

He was pondering whether he could ask Fili to take the next run of supplies in a fortnight when he sensed something was off. The forest had grown too quiet. His hand had just begun to reach for his sword when orcs burst through the underbrush.

Kili brandished the sharpened iron at them, but they didn't balk. He landed a blow on one's arm, but he knew there were too many for him to ever fight. Parrying a strike from a crudely made blade, he stumbled backwards, tripping over his feet and the uneven forest ground. A thought flashed through him, and wondered for an instant if this were his end, when suddenly a figure cloaked in green and leather ran from the trees. Three orcs were struck dead before they could even react. The rest turned and charged at their new opponent, forgetting about the dwarf prince that had sat at the tips of their swords moments ago.

The warrior's sword moved faster than he could see, a blur of deadly silver that easily cut through a dozen orcs in mere moments.

Kili watched in awe as the hooded figure easily cut down the last orc. The figure sheathed their sword, before turning and walking towards where Kili lay. A small part of his mind told him to run, but his body refused to obey; not that it would have made a difference if this swift warrior meant to harm him. They crouched in front of him, extending one hand to help him and bringing the other up to their hood. As Kili took their hand, they pulled their hood down, revealing a startlingly beautiful face framed by voluminous red curls, and eyes that gazed at you as if they already knew everything about you. Her rose lips curled into a smile as she helped him to his feet.

She tilted her head, bemused at his awe-struck look. "Are you alright, penneth?" She asked. "You look as if you've never seen an elf before."

He was taken aback slightly by her comment, but indeed: her ears were long and pointed, and everything about her seemed graceful, and slightly ethereal. Her hair was braided elaborately back around the top of her head, but flowed freely over her shoulders. Her figure was heavily muscled, and there was a pale scar tracing down the side of her face. He blinked, reminding himself that it was disrespectful to stare.

"Who are you?" He asked, releasing her hand.

"My name is Tauriel." She offered no other information. She turned back to the slain orcs, pulling a silver knife out of one of their necks and twirling it in her deft, slender fingers.

"Where are you from?" He asked suddenly, hesitantly, figuring nervously with the leather sheath on his belt.

"Careful," she warned with a smile. "I don't think your kinsmen would encourage you associating with an elf."

"Perhaps not," he shrugged. "But I would like to know the one who saved my life."

"The tales about the stubbornness of dwarves must be true. Very well, Master Dwarf, I come from a woodland far to the east," she jested, glanced down at him. "I presume you are one of Durin's folk?"

He squared his feet and straightened his back. "Prince Kili," he introduced himself, being sure to include his title, hoping that it would make some impression on the beautiful warrior. She nodded, sheathed her knife and turned to walk off. For a moment, Kili panicked; he didn't want her to leave. He barely knew her, but he wanted to; she was easily the most unique person he had ever met.

"Wait!" He called out, unsure what to say to make her stay when she turned around. "Y... you said you're from far to the east. Why are you here? I thought elves rarely traveled far from their homeland."

Her eyes fell to the ground, previous happiness replaced with sadness and longing. "It is true," she murmured. "Most of my kin remain within the kingdom. I-I have not seen my home in many years."

"Why?" He asked. So simple a question, yet filled with so much sympathy and care. The sincerity of his tone brought an ease to the pain that the sundering had wrought in her heart.

Tauriel looked up and smiled, shoving her dark feelings behind a well-practiced mask. "A great many happenings that I need not burden you with, young warrior."

Kili scoffed at the name. "I am hardly young. I am nearing my 73rd year."

That statement brought a true smile to her face, one that held back laughter rather than pain.

"What's so funny?" He demanded, smiling in spite of himself at her infectious grin.

"Nothing, Master Dwarf," She responded. "Merely that my kind lives so much longer than yours. When I was in my 73rd year, I was scarce considered more than a child!"

Kili found himself laughing at her statement, and she quickly joined in, laughing more at themselves than any words spoken.

After a few minutes, she asked, "Well, Prince Kili, where do you live?"

"Ered Luin," He answered.

She creased her brow. "Ered Luin is nearly three hours south, penneth. What business takes you so far?"

"I was delivering supplies to a village another half-league north. I was just returning when these orcs ambushed me." He responded, surprised even with himself how easy it felt to speak with her. "But where are you staying? You said you were quite far from your home 'far to the east.'"

Tauriel gestured around them with her hand. "I stay where I please, I need nothing and no one but this."

That must be lonely, he thought, but quickly clamped down before it slipped out of his mouth, he didn't want to make her sad again. "And you seemed to think it was reckless for me to travel alone." He joked, raising an eyebrow at her.

She raised her hands in a joking surrender. "I yield to thee, oh master of wit!" This caused another fit of chuckles between the two. Tauriel escorted her new friend as far as the borders of the human village where his people had taken up refuge. There, she bade him farewell and disappeared into the trees, leaving him with the bittersweet wonder of if he would ever meet the mysterious elf-maid again.

Her laugh and unusual demeanor clouded his head as his feet carried him home, and he scarce noticed when he reached it.

"Kili," Thorin pulled him into an embrace as he approached his home. "We heard that there was an orc pack heading north. Fili was going out to go find you-" He cut himself off as he noticed the scrapes and bruises on Kili's arms and face. "You were attacked," He said in realization, gripping Kili's shoulders in his calloused hands as if he were afraid his nephew would disappear. "How did you survive? How-"

"I'm fine, Uncle," Kili said with a small smile. "I'm not harmed."

"You could not have fought thirty orcs in your own." The creases in Thorin's brow deepened.

"There was..." Kili considered not telling him about Tauriel. He had never lied to his Uncle before, but he knew how much Thorin hated elves for what they had done after Smaug took Erebor. Kili sighed internally. He could never lie to his uncle. "There was an elf."

Thorin stiffened at Kili's words, his eyes darkening. "An elf?"

"Yes, Uncle," He said. "But it was strange; she was alone, and saved my life from the orcs."

Thorin paused for a moment. "Who was she?"

"She said her name was Tauriel, and that she came from a wood in the east, and that she had been long separated from her kin. Uncle, I know she means no harm, if she had wished ill on me, she had need only leave me to the orcs. Yet she saved me."

Thorin still had a firm frown set into his face. "Fili will accompany you on your next trip." Kili opened his mouth to protest. He finally had a true want to make the trip alone, and now he could not. "Dwalin as well." Thorin cut him off before he could speak and turned back towards the house.

Again Kili was left alone, with only his thoughts for company. And for once, he was as confused as they were.


	3. Temptation of Fate

**Third Age: 2472**

Tauriel went to Dale first. She left early the second day of her journey, but already there were rumors spreading about the missing elf princess. She turned south, deciding it was best to avoid Erebor and the Iron Hills. Skirting the edge of the forest that was once her home, she reached the East Bight witching two weeks. There, at her camp, she threw out the map she had stolen, taking only her secret blade and stolen bow wherever her feet would take her. She wore a smile as bright as the moon when she turned her path to the expanses of Rhovanion.

Through new experience, her elven scimitar, once clumsy and unfamiliar in her hand, now sung with power and grace as she swung it through the air, feeling more like an extension of her own body than a piece of steel.

In Gondor, she achieved some note among the rangers for aiding them in a battle. In Rohan, the Beast Lords taught her the ways of horses. She had even dared to gaze over the remnants of Dagorlad, and the Dead Marshes where so many of her people had fallen to preserve the world from Sauron.

A shudder passed through her shoulders at the mere thought of the place.

She traveled the southern lands of Middle Earth for nearly seven years before she dared return to the Misty Mountains. Fortunate it was that she did, for north of Lothlorien she discovered a caravan set up for the night's rest. She sat, unseen, in a tree by the encampment, wondering who they were escorting. The guards bore the emblem of Rivendell on their banners, and Lorien, the home of Celebrian, the wife of Elrond, was close at hand. Perhaps one of their sons was traveling there, as they oft did.

 _Celebrian..._ Tauriel had heard tell before she left that she had been captured and grievously wounded by orcs. Elrond, a skilled magical healer, had saved her body, but she carried the scars on her _fëa_ , her soul. Tauriel pushed away any thoughts of how similar the event was to her mother's death.

As her mind drifted in thought, the flap of the tent was drawn open. She looked up in time to see who stepped out, and her heart gave a great leap. Yet the graceful elleth who stepped from the tent looked miserable, and she had glimmering eyes when she walked into the mountain forest.

Tauriel followed her silently through the trees, and when the maiden stopped some ways from camp behind an outcropping of rock, she gracefully alighted, and spoke in a gentle voice.

"Dear cousin, my heart joys to see you, yet you mourn alone in these woods. Tell me, what pain has come to the hidden valley?"

Arwen looked up in surprise from the moon bathed grass. A temporary happiness passed over her beautiful features at the sight of Tauriel, and she ran to embrace her prodigal cousin. "Tauriel! I was grieved to hear that you had left your home. Why have you gone? How is it that I find you her? Or rather, you find me."

Tauriel pulled her cousin closer in her arms. "Arwen, I have longed to see you. You can see, no harm has become of me during my travels. I left to escape the tyranny by which my father ruled me, and I shall not return, not for many years!" She proclaimed happily. "I travel where I please now. I go in secrecy, for should my father discover me, then surely my freedom is doomed." She backed away, looking Arwen straight in the eye. "You must tell no one you have seen me here, Arwen, not even your brothers. Please, don't sentence me to be trapped again."

Arwen swore silence, and the two girls sat together in the moonlight. Finally, Tauriel spoke again: "Why are you here, Arwen? What sadness has plagued you throughout our reunion? I would ease your pain, if I but knew the cause."

Arwen hesitated a moment before replying, twirling a lock of dark hair between her fingers as her eyes glazed in thought. "You know of the capture of my mother, and the cost it took on her..." She had to swallow the lump in her throat that grew as memories of her last discussion with her mother rose in her mind. "She cannot be healed here. She has made the choice to sail to Aman."

The words hit Tauriel like a blow. Tears traced their way down Arwen's cheeks. Tauriel wrapped an arm around her, giving her comfort and warmth as everything spilled out. "I know I should be happy that she will be healed, but I will not see her again until I myself sail; and I cannot, for something keeps me here. I am certain there is a part I must play before I must go to Aman and see her again. Why-" Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, and when she spoke again, it was far softer. "Why would Eru allow this? She did no crime, _I_ did no crime. Yet..." Emotions spent, she couldn't continue. But Tauriel understood what was said and unsaid. The grief of death was not something that elves often beheld, which deepened its blow when it did fall. And the grief for a mother is greatest.

"She will be healed. You will see her again, Arwen. When you sail, you will meet again." They sat in each other's embrace as the moon crept higher in the sky. Nothing else could be said, despite the fact that so much needed to be.

At long last, Arwen let out a sigh. "I must return to my camp. Tomorrow I will reach the land of my Mother's Mother." She stood, hesitates for a moment, then tentatively offered her hand. "Come with me," she offered. "No harm will come to you, you will be free and safe. Please... Don't let yourself be alone."

Tauriel stood, but lifted herself without the help of her companion, standing tall, proud, and alone in the night. She gently placed her hand on Arwen's shoulder. "It is not just that which drives me, Arwen. _Nae_ , my fate does not lie within a walled city, or in any place that I might find safety. My time in the wild has steeled the compass of my heart, I can feel clearly where my fate lies." A giddy look came over her face as she gazed up at the stars, imagining what her fate could be leading her to.

Arwen sighed, and pulled her into another embrace, wondering if it could be their last.

"My Lady Arwen?" A voice called from the camp. Tauriel jumped like a startled cat at the sound.

With an urgency Tauriel had never seen before, Arwen gripped her shoulders. "Go!" She ordered. "Fate doesn't come often, and most don't recognize it. Don't waste yours worrying about me. Go!"

As she watched her cousin sprint into the darkness and heard a guard approach behind her, Arwen whispered to herself. "Return. _Saes_ , Faerelon."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translations:

Nae - Alas

Saes - Please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this book is going to be laid out kind of weirdly. Basically, the even numbered chapters will follow the timeline for The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings; while the odds take place ~500 years before then. I'll continue this until the backstory plot is done, then continue it like a normal book. Also, I'm sorry for the long wait, my computer was down and it's harder to write on a phone. Thanks for reading so far!


	4. Chapter 4

_**Third Age: 2935** _

Kili pulled his bowstring towards his cheek. Standing as still as he possibly could, he aimed towards his quarry. His arrow flew, but only grazed the side of the deer, which began to flee. It had taken only a few steps when another arrow came from the trees and struck its neck.

"I assumed after last time, you would no longer wander alone in these perilous woods." A familiar, musical voice sounded from behind Kili.

Tauriel silently dropped from her high perch and walked towards Kili, who had smile spread across his face. "Lady Tauriel," he greeted. "You certainly have a talent for timing."

She scoffed lightly and tossed her head at the name, despite the smile creeping upon her own lips. "I'm no noble lady, Prince Kili." It wasn't entirely a lie. "Please, call me Tauriel, many call me by that name."

"Do you have others?" He asked in surprise at her odd wording. He thought that everyone was given one name, (except for humans, who oftentimes had a family name as well, which sounded awfully peculiar).

She laughed lightly, a silvery sound like water pouring over stones. "My mother named me Tauriel, but my father-name is Faerelon, and I have also been named Anduigil and Myrniel. In honor of my mother, I take the name she gave me; thus I am Tauriel of the House of Singollo." Alarm shot trough her as she realized what she had let slip. Tauriel cursed herself for forgetting who she was with. Kili seemed trustworthy enough, but he was a stranger who's kind held a long feud against her family. Thankfully, Kili was young, and often slacked in his studies in favor of his sword. He paid no mind to the name.

"What brings you to wander again in a dangerous forest?" She changed the subject, raising one eyebrow in a joking manner.

"What brings you to wander away from your homeland, stealing game from helpless dwarves?" He countered, perfectly willing to let the topic drop if it made her uncomfortable.

She gasped, putting a hand over her chest as if he had been hurt. "I come to offer my aid, and I am accused of stealing! My father was right, you dwarves are trouble!" Suddenly, Tauriel realized that, despite the fact that they had only met twice, her meetings with Kili were the only times she had laughed since she... Better to put that thought away. If some things are best not spoken of, then that shouldn't even be thought.

Again, she helped her new friend to the borders of his village, but this time she lingered within the tree line; she couldn't shake the feeling that something was different. All night the elf quietly kept guard over the houses of sleeping humans, and the entrances to the mines of the dwarves. When the moon sank into the grasp of the mountains to the west, she abandoned her post, but stayed within a few leagues.

  * **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•**



"I don't get why you've been acting so risky lately, Kili," Fili warned, observing the casual nature with which his brother treated his weapons; the way he treated everything nowadays. "It's not as if you'll always have someone watching over you. Be careful once in a while!"

Kili only responded with a shrug. He cast a glance over his shoulder, smirking at the irony of Fili's worryings. "Maybe you shouldn't smother me so much. Honestly, you're worse than Amad."

Kili ignored his brother's heavy sigh and light shove to his shoulder, and casually tossed another knife into the air, watching it glint and flip before landing back in his open palm. He quickly tucked the knife away as he heard the approach of heavy boots. Both brothers straightened their backs as Thorin and Dwalin approached, still deep in conversation, with lines of worry crossing their faces. The secrecy and severity of their conversations quickly doused Kili's earlier confidence that his brother was being irrational.

A party of merchants was travelling from a small kingdom in Dunland to the Blue Mountains, but recent orc attacks had grown so frequent and violent that Thorin trusted no one but himself and his closest warriors to fend them off. It didn't help that several of the fighters who would normally take a mission such as this had been killed or wounded in the year's attacks.

"Are you ready?" Thorin asked gruffly, though his eyes were filled with worry at the thought of putting his nephews in danger. Kili glanced at his brother, who solemnly nodded, prompting him to follow suit.

With no other ceremony, they slung their packs over their shoulders and began the trip. They planned to be gone for a fortnight, so the city had been left in the hands of Balin and Dis, who the people had no qualms obeying, as each were as highly thought of as their respective brothers.

(Though, before he had left, Thorin had been pulled aside by Dis to receive a very pointed threat of what would happen to him should anything hurt her sons.)

Tauriel wasn't quite sure why she was following the little company. Boredom, perhaps; it wasn't the first time she had tracked a party out of mere curiosity. Possibly it was a desire to protect them in case anything should happen. Most likely, though, it was the fact that so many years of training as a princess had given her the ability to know a king when she saw one. And Thorin Oakenshield had the bearing of a proud ruler.

Whatever was driving her to, she followed them, wondering what could make a king leave his people. She never suspected it might be something so dull and trivial as an  _ escort _ .

It was commendable, she supposed, that he was willing to protect his subjects. But surely there were better ways to do so than leading a dozen or so aging dwarves through Bree-land.

While she followed them, her sharp ears were able to pick out much information about the warriors on the trip. Thorin she could easily pick out by his bearing of royalty, and she quickly realized that the blond dwarf was Kili's brother, who they called Fili. He seemed to be more mature, more soft-spoken, holding a quiet wisdom and judgement. The balding one, who seemed to be very close to the king, was called Dwalin, and carried two formidable axes on his back. 

By the time they had started on the return journey, she felt as if she personally knew each of them. They were all fiercely protective of one another. And though Tauriel's Khuzdul was antiquated and rudimentary at best, she could have sworn she heard Thorin call the other dwarrow "Brother" late one night.

Having spent much of her free time in the last few months hunting orcs, she thought she would have to seek out any kill while she followed the company, but she was quickly and unfortunately proven wrong. 

On the last leg of the initial journey to Dunland, the dwarves were attacked while they slept. Thorin had been on watch at the time, but was able to give only a brief shout to wake his companions as the creatures burst from the trees. The dwarves swung their weapons, but the dim light of the smoldering fire offered them no aid, and the darkness eased the fight of the orcs. 

However, in darkness, even the sight of an orc was no match for an elf. One by one, grey-fletched arrows struck down the attackers. Soon, there was only one left, fighting Thorin. Dwalin was rushing to his side when a silver dagger impaled itself in the orc's neck. Only then did they notice that someone else had joined them. Dwalin was clearly about to say something scathing to the elf when Kili spoke first.

"My lady." He bowed. The friendly shove she gave his shoulder in response was enough to bring smiles to both their faces. 

"Well," She pulled one of her arrows out of the neck of one orc. "I've now met you three times, and twice saved your life and once saved your hunt. Are you always this surrounded by trouble?"

"Indeed, though the trouble is usually of my own making."

With another smile, she turned and bowed deeply to the others in the clearing. "Tauriel Faerelon Myrniel, at your service." She presented herself. 

Thorin stepped forward, glancing from the silver knife to the elf. "It seems I owe you a life-debt," He acknowledged, taking care not to show how the words chaffed at his pride.  _ A life-debt _ . To an  _ elf _ . "I thank you. I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain. What business do you have here?"

"I came across your party travelling through Eriador, and in times like these any travelers are at risk. I worried that so few would pose an easy target for any more than a dozen of these foul creatures."

Thorin shared a cautious glance with Dwalin, who had been standing back with his axe in hand, happy to let someone else deal with diplomacy, but always ready to defend his king. "In light of the circumstances," Thorin began slowly. "Is there something I can offer you? Within reason, of course."

Faerelon frowned at the carrion strewn about, which would soon be attracting wolf birds. "If it's withing my bounds to say, this journey is treacherous. You could use another warrior." She fiddled with her bowstring absentmindedly. "I know you distrust my kind, with good reason, but you should know I have been long sundered from my kin." It was clear as day that they would sorely need her help, but just as clear was the pride in each of their bearings.  _ Offer without insulting _ . For once she was grateful for those lessons she was given in her youth.

The king, obviously taken aback, muttered something along the lines of  _ You'll allow me a moment _ , and pulled his confidante aside. 

"Thank you," Fili piped up suddenly, now that his uncle was gone. "You saved my little brother-" Kili looked quite miffed at the term little. "And now you've saved my uncle and Dwalin, and me." 

Thinking of himself last, she noted. A good quality.

After a few long moments, Thorin returned, shifting uneasily on his feet. Dwalin still regarded her with cold caution. "I don't harbor much trust for your kind," The king began, making no effort to disguise his suspicions. "But you are right. These days grow ever darker. And you have defended my kin without ask for reward. I will allow you to accompany us on our journey." He went on with a long-winded explanation their duty, which went largely ignored by everyone present. 

When they finally set off, Tauriel wasn't sure whether to be pleased or concerned when the gruff Dwalin fell into stride behind her at the rear of the group.

"So, lass," He all but growled, and shockingly enough raised an eyebrow at her. "What  _ really _ happened when you saved the lad's life?"


	5. A Flame to be Struck

_**Third Age: 2480** _

The days grew colder and darker.

The Ettenmoors were behind her, and much beyond that, Rivendell. Everything Tauriel had ever known in her 2000 years could be pointed to with one hand.

It was a sobering thought.

75 leagues east lay the place that had killed her mother, and many others in a bid to rescue her. Best not to dwell on that. But the further she traveled, the less certain she was. Dread had started to seep into her being, corroding the courage she had held so close. Faith in a wondrous destiny no longer burned so bright.

Sword gripped tight, she had been walking for two weeks, gnawing anxiety not allowing her to rest. Finally though, exhaustion won out, and she collapsed at the foot of a cliff face. Drawing herself into the darkest shadow, she did her best to warm her hands without the risk of a fire. Every hiss of biting wind through stunted trees pushed her more on edge.

Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, so fogged it could fit no more than one thought at a time. Had that star been in the sky farther south? No, certainly not. Why were there no stars on the northern horizon?

In her mental battle, paranoia again bested sense, and she dragged herself to her feet, forcing them to move against another wave of biting cold.

This isn't safe, the bit of wisdom in her brain yelled. You can barely stay on your feet, you can hardly walk. What good is this?

But her numbed feet moved of their own accord, the sick force that had been guiding her for years tugged her forward. The deep pit in her gut ached, and her mind wept in anticipation.

In her addled state, she didn't notice the orcs swarming over the dark hills until they had been in front of her eyes several seconds. She drew her sword and tried to swing, but the blade grew heavier with every second, as if the tip were determined to drive itself into the dirt.

_They'll never know you died,_ a voice in her mind chanted. _They'll never know you died. Dead with a legacy of abandonment._

The self-pity, pathetic and childish as it was, made her angry enough to lift part of the fog. Her sword swung with new vigor.

But a small spark is not enough to drive away the night. The dark, starless night that swirled before her eyes. In all honesty, she could barely tell the difference between the night and unconsciousness, only that one was peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a filler chapter this time, but I've been writing more and I'm going to switch to a more regular update schedule now that I have the initial few chapters out. Also, we're starting to get into the plot of the story (you can expect a bigger kickoff next chapter).


	6. Kindled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics - Sindarin

**Third Age: 2935**

A few weeks and several more demonstrations of her fighting prowess, along with some pleading on Kili's part (which he would never admit to), slowly warmed the cold attitude of the dwarves towards Tauriel. To her credit, in Thorin's opinion, she kept her peace when the others stayed as far from her as possible, and owing her a life-debt helped provide motivation to keep her with the group.

By the time they reached the Mountain, they had become close enough to include her in their fireside discussions, (though she suspected this had something to do with the game her bow had been able to consistently procure them). With Thorin's permission, she used a simple glamour spell to hide the points of her ears, masquerading as a human ranger.

A few days of rest in the mountain at Dunland allowed them to become better acquainted. Slowly, begrudging acceptance began to form. Three days into their stay, Fili offered to spar with her.

She hesitated a moment as she grabbed her sword.

"Don't worry," Fili had his two identical blades, of an odd dwarven make that had them tapered in the opposite direction as her own. "I won't hold it against you if you loose."

"Neither will I." There was no real challenge in either of their voices. His twin blades clashed against her longsword. Of course, being nearly 2 feet taller than your opponent with a sword almost as tall as him gives a distinct advantage. Within a minute, the blond heir had been tripped flat on his back (much to the amusement of his spectating little brother).

A few rounds of sparing, and it seemed as though everyone was starting to loosen up. Strength accounted for a great deal in the eyes of the dwarves,and hers was beginning to win them over. A good warrior was a good warrior, dwarf or not. Some even made conversation with her out of more than politeness.

Fili proved to be caring and funny underneath his reserved exterior. Dwalin never stopped being gruff, but showed how fiercely loyal he was to Thorin. Thorin himself was more of a puzzle; determined to make himself aloof, yet was quick to pull his nephews into a tight hug if he ever thought they were in danger. Kili... She wasn't quite sure if he trusted her because she saved his life, or because he was simply so young that the bitterness of the world had not yet dampened his spirits.

The days in Dunland also allowed Kili to think of Tauriel. Why it was so easy to talk to her, why he wanted desperately to hear her laugh again, why no one else seemed to think of her as he did. Was he truly so different from his family? (And Dwalin, too, but he counted as family.) Was it truly so odd? The sound of an opening door pulled him away from his thoughts.

Tauriel's hair, heavy with water, hung to her waist without the bushiness usually provided by her curls. In the evening sun, each strand seemed to be of gleaming copper. Kili pulled his eyes away before she could notice he was staring. He'd never thought an elf could be... beautiful. Yet there she was, crooked smile, barely tamed hair, spatters of freckled that reminded him of sparks from a forge.

She joined him on the large stone where he was sitting, turning her face up towards the sun. They would be headed back to Ered Luin soon, but now wasn't the time to think about that. They sat there, together, in the warmth of the day.   
  
  


**_Five years later_ **

**•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•**

**Third Age: 2941**  
  
  
  


A bright, early-April sun beamed through the windows, though it did little to lift the somber gloom sitting heavy over the room. Fourteen dwarves and one elf, all crowded around a too-small table. There had been some commotion at the start of the meeting as Tauriel's race had been revealed (which included some Khuzdul words she was glad she didn't know), but they had settled down once Thorin began explaining their quest.

Suddenly, Thorin's tone grew more somber. "Last month I had a meeting with Tharkûn in Bree. We have suspected for many years that the time is growing close to try and retake Erebor. Now is our chance. Our mission is stealth. Gandalf insists he has a burglar who will be able to take the Arkenstone from Smaug, should he yet live but still sleep. With the stone, we will be able to march on the Mountain. Dain's given his word." A sudden knock to the door cut him off. For a moment, everything was still. "That would be him," Thorin muttered.

Dis rose to answer the door, glad to at least momentarily be rid of her brother's theatrics. Thorin was proved right as a tall had and flowing grey robes passed through the door as if summoned by the mention of his name. Some greetings of "Tharkûn," and "Gandalf," were muttered, but largely ignored as the wizard set about his business. 

"Is this everyone, Thorin?" A nod. "Just as well, a small group will be best to get inside the mountain without attracting attention. I have arranged our burglar, a little fellow of the Shire whose mother was a dear friend of mine. An excellent burglar, he will make; the Shirefolk are a quaint people, but quite light on their feet when they wish to be." It was only then that he seemed to notice who was next to him. "Lady Dis! Will you be accompanying us?"

"I'm afraid not, Gandalf," She replied, giving a sharp look at her brother when he opened his mouth to answer on her behalf. Dis was matronly and jovial with her family, but would spare no one blows from her fists or tongue. In fact, Thorin was likely the most common recipient of her verbal lashings. "I will be ruling here in my brother's stead."

"Such a shame! A princess might prove a valuable ally in out quest."

Then, a voice spoke from the other side of the room. " _You already have one, Mithrandir_." Tauriel tilted her head so that her face could be seen from under her hood, laughing lightly. Gandalf looked as if he had seen a ghost. 

"Of all those I expected to see," He said once he was over his surprise. "The lady of Eryn Galen was not among them." His brow furrowed and his previous happiness disappeared. " _You are aware, My Lady, that your father has thought you dead these past four and a half hundred years_."

"That can be discussed at a later time. If you'll allow me, my King-" She glanced at Thorin, who nodded. "Now that we have gathered everyone, we cannot delay any longer. If we leave now, we may yet make it to the mountain before the first snows fall. The journey will take half a year, if we make haste and can avoid harm on the road."

"Where there is a road, at least," Someone snickered.

Thorin nodded. "We leave at first light tomorrow if we wish to arrive at the burglar's home by the 28th. From there we make for Bree, then over the Mountains to Erebor. Once we have the Arkenstone, we can make for Dain in the Iron Hills."

"Well!" An unfamiliar dwarf with a floppy hat and an infectious grin leapt up from his seat. "It was all nice and fun discussing our impending death with ya, your majesties, but I better get some shut-eye!" Others began excusing themselves as well. 

A few minutes later, Gandalf and Tauriel stood behind the house, a safe distance away where no one could hear.

"How long have you been here?" 

"Five years."

"Where have you been before then?"

"That's no concern of yours."

Gandalf rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I may be old, but I am no fool. Your father entrusted to me the knowledge of your power, but this... What has happened?"

A dark look, the like of which Gandalf had never seen on her before, crossed over her eyes. "It is no concern of yours, Mithrandir. My power is not for you to trifle with. What is important now is restoring the throne of Erebor to Durin's line. You know as well as I that a darkness is brewing. My father is our only ally in the east. Gondor's strength and nobility is all but squandered. Esgaroth is pitiful. Those of Rhun are content to stay on the other side of their sea while the rest of the world fights. Without Erebor, we don't stand a chance against the enemy."

"Enemy?" Tauriel swiftly turned away as she realized what she had revealed. "What stirrings of the enemy have been made known to you?"

"Enough." Her voice was weary when she met his eyes again. "The world is changed, more than you know. We face an enemy worse than any you can imagine. I'm not asking you for trust, I'm asking you to realize the danger that grows with every second."


	7. Snuffed

**Third Age: 2480**

Tauriel didn't so much wake as become suddenly aware.

She was standing in a hall of dark stone. It was spacious, but something about the sheer walls on all sides made it feel utterly claustrophobic. Perhaps a hundred paces in front of her, the hall dissolved into shadow, though there was no obvious source of light around her.

The air was deathly still.

Looking down at herself, she wore the same leather and steel armor she had been wearing as she passed through Arnor, no tears or scuffs to be seen. The only difference was a thick cuff of black iron wrapping around her wrist to halfway up her forearm, cold to the touch. Not in any position to hinder her movement, but strange nonetheless.

Seeing nothing else around, she went forwards, as it seemed to be the only way to go. Even stranger, the wall of shadow always stayed those hundred or so paces away. She still didn't notice any lights, but the darkened area definitively remained, retreating as she advanced. Her footsteps, usually quiet, were completely and utterly silent. The only noise was her muffled heartbeat.

At some point, she began to notice a voice, slithering around the hall, as much in her head as her ears. She stopped, trying to listen to what it said.

" _Myrniel._ " The first word it had said clearly, loud enough in the silent hall to make her jump.  _Myrniel_. An odd word. Maiden of Darkness. Just as Tauriel was Daughter of the Forest. A sinking feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.

" _Myrniel; you're late._ " The voice hissed. " _Trapped, trapped,_ " it continued a moment later, sounding giddy and gleeful. " _You're trapped. But if you fight, you'll be out. Now that you're here, we can finally begin._ "

Just as quickly and strangely as it had come, the voice was gone. Myrniel, it called her. A name clearly modeled after her own. Whoever had made this place knew who she was, and was going to "finally begin" something.

She tried to slow her racing heart and breaths. Clearly something was going on, and that needed to be found out.

Suddenly, so suddenly it nearly made her sick, without any noise or accompaniment, the rest of the hall was suddenly lit. 

At the end, not a stone's throw away, was a looming door of heavy wood. A way, at least, if likely not a way out.

The sound of snarls filled her ears as the door grew closer. The noise, even if frightful, was more comfort than the awful silence, or the voice.  When it was not an arm's reach from her, it swung open. There was a small room, with some wooden racks of swords and a few shields lying discarded about. The opposite wall was only a crosshatch of iron bars, beyond that she could see beasts scuffling in an open pit of red-brown dirt and wooden walls.

Scattered about the room, a handful of humans and one or two dwarves sat with hollow eyes and hands that tightened near-imperceptibly on their weapons as her gaze fell over them. On instinct, Tauriel took a sword from the rack; a double-edged longsword made of black metal, about five feet from pommel to tip, well-balanced. Glancing back over her shoulder as she buckled the scabbard to her armor, she could see the dead eyes of the others following her.

Tension crackled like lightning in the room, which had gone silent as the fighting of the beasts past the iron ceased. Everyone eyed each other suspiciously, and the newcomer even more so.

She was thinking they knew something she didn't.

They were thinking about who in the room would die that day.

As they will, the humans had made alliances and plans to stab each other in the back. Or the chest, even; betrayal was an open secret in this place.

A low rumble started, knocking dust loose from the stone ceiling. Metal grated on metal as the gate on the back wall rose up. The soldiers in the room stood and hefted their weapons. More growls emanated from the arena before them, different from the beasts before but no less terrifying.

_No use making yourself scared._ Tauriel ducked under the still-rising gate, knuckles whitening around the hilt of her new blade. The arena was wide, but not any more than perhaps a few dozen yards across the largest point of the rough circle. The ceiling was a different matter. It stretched up and up, becoming lost in the shadows, perhaps leagues above. The room was lit by a wide, glowing orange stripe that ran around the circle, about 30 feet up.

Of course, all this was processed within a second, because the large troll on the far side was occupying the majority of her thoughts. Eyes quickly adjusting to the brighter room, she tumbled to the side as it charged, allowing it to slam into the wood and stone wall. She had to roll again as a club came down where her head had been a half-second earlier.

A quick glance back told her that the humans hadn't joined in, merely watching from the door.

Another swing that came too close to taking her head off. Seeing an opening, she sliced her long blade across the troll's leg, knocking it off balance.

Jumping and kicking off its lowering arm, she stretched her arm as high as it would reach to drive her sword into its neck.

The troll was on the ground only a few moments before a different door opened, one that she must not have noticed before. Orcs swarmed in, beady eyes fixed on her. Tauriel reached out to grab her sword, but felt a tug on her wrist as she did. From the cuff on her arm, which she had almost forgotten, a chain had formed. It looked misty and insubstantial and faded into nothing at the end, but held firm as she pulled again.

To her surprise, the orcs didn't immediately kill her. They still snarled and their claw-like nails still bit into her skin, but they merely took hold of the misty chain and dragged her away from the arena where she fought.

Out of curiosity, and some fear, Tauriel followed where they led her, which turned out to be horribly underwhelming, to be honest.

A narrow cave in the wall of stone several twists and turns away from the arena. Each of the corridors were lit by the strange glowing stripe from before. The cave had a thick iron door, making it into a cell. A quick glance around told her there were several others in the area.

Tauriel let herself be put into the cell. She could break out once they were gone. It had to be flimsy, it was impossible to have a good forge and craftsmen in a place like this. It was impossible.

It had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the plot finally begins to come together, feat. lots of vague references to my favorite books (lembas for anyone who gets them).
> 
> Also, next month's chapter is shaping up to be pretty long, so apologies in advance.


	8. A Second or Third Beginning, Depending on How You Count

**Third Age: 2941**

The Shire seemed a nice enough place, if the few halflings Tauriel saw seemed to stare a bit. Tauriel was used to being a spectacle, though; unusually tall, even for an elf, large ears, bright red hair, with a sword longer than the Shirefolk were tall, she had expected to be a bit off-putting.

Staring was about the worst a hobbit would do, as Bilbo Baggins well knew. (Except for Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, but they had agreed to put the spoons behind them for now). He had to put up with a great many stares, growing up. They all said he was odd, like his mother. And while he and Belladonna both had always maintained that there was no shame in being odd, he did his best to be a respectable hobbit.

He took walks around Hobbiton, grew prize-winning tomatoes, spent many a long afternoon smoking Old Toby with Hamfast Gamgee. Most importantly, he loved food. So it was an understandable shock to him when several dwarves showed up at his smial (uninvited he might add), and began to pillage his pantry. 

Four dwarves, to be precise. In his dining room. With his food. Rearranging his chairs. Pouring his ale. It was all Bilbo could do to keep from fainting when he heard the doorbell ring again.

"No, no, no. T-there's nobody home. If this is someone's idea of a joke-" His spluttering tirade was cut short by at least seven dwarves piling onto his mat. Though, it was hard to tell just how many there were with how much they were all squirming around trying to get out from under one another.

Thus the ever-dignified Thorin Oakenshield made his entrance to Bag End. Though it was hardly noticeable, as he was trapped under Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, rendering him nearly invisible and quite flabbergasted. 

Behind the large pile, there was someone who answered as many questions as he raised by being there. 

"You seem a bit upset, my dear Bilbo."

"U-upset!" Bilbo pulled Gandalf aside to avoid making a scene. "Who are these people? Why are they in my house? I told you this morning, I want nothing to do with whatever adventure you were on about." He took a deep breath to recover from the rant, ignoring how something in his heart had sank as he yet again said no to an adventure.

"To answer your questions, I merely volunteered your home for an urgent meeting of theirs- Ah, Faerelon, let me introduce you to our host." Gandalf ushered forwards a tall, previously-unnoticed woman who had entered with him. "This is a dear friend of mine, who I have known for many more times than you have been alive. She's part of our merry group, perhaps you might show her to the fire while the rest are settled?" Gandalf's tone left no room for argument, so he did as he was asked.

After several subsequent minutes of attempting to control the loud band occupying his kitchen and dining room, he joined the woman by the fire (trying desperately to remember her name), only to find that she had pulled down her hood to reveal intricately braided red hair, and two tall, pointed ears. Finding out that there was an elf in his smial was hardly the most surprising of the current events, so he hardly paid any mind; though it did explain the grace with which she moved, and silence rivaling a hobbit! She was easily as tall as Gandalf, likely reaching about 6 feet, but infinitely more graceful. Most intriguingly, every part of her gave off a soft, pearly, glow. The one thing that did itch at his mind was that she looked vaguely familiar.

Once everyone was finally gathered around the table to the food Bilbo had prepared once he had accepted his new company, the rowdy group proved to be no more reserved when stationary.

Eggs and potatoes flew, ale splashed over the floor, and his poor honey-baked ham was all but pulverized. At the very least, the ones at the head of the table had some manners. Thorin, the one with grey-streaked hair who the others had introduced as a king (which had been a rather large shock), was more effective than Bilbo himself at crowd-management.

As soon as Thorin began to speak, everyone fell silent. "You all know of our quest and why we are here. All signs we have read point to this being the time for Erebor to be reclaimed. We alone cannot face the dragon, but I cannot ask the seven armies to fight this battle without the Arkenstone. Without it, they are not bound to me and I have no right to lead them." 

Bilbo nodded along, pretending to understand just  _what_  was happening and why they were talking about facing a  _dragon_. 

"Master Baggins," His head shot up. "Should you agree to join our quest, as you have been spoken highly of by Gandalf, your job will be to enter the mountain to retrieve the Arkenstone so we may rally armies to kill the beast. With our success, you will be compensated handsomely."

"Hm," Bilbo gathered his wits, hoping he sounded much more confident than he felt. "And, may I inquire the  _dimensions_  of the 'beast?'"

Bilbo most certainly did  _not_ faint. He was just exceptionally tired after receiving so many guests and he had thought that the floor looked quite comfortable. No, it had nothing at all to do with a lengthy description of the danger on their quest (which, privately, he was thrilled at the prospect of joining). And it was definitely not because of the idea of stealing from a dragon. It wasn't, stop saying that.

He woke up from his completely planned and incredibly graceful nap in his father's armchair, being handed a cup by a dwarf with very neatly braided hair and beard. Lori, Bori, something like that. There were a lot of names to learn at once.

Bilbo gripped the tea as tightly as his shaking fingers would allow. "I'll be alright! I just... Need to sit quietly for a moment..."

Trying to calm down, and pointedly ignoring Gandalf's remark on how long he had been sitting quietly, he reached for a book. He realized, once he had it, that it was one of the books that he couldn't read. It had belonged to his mother, and was written in an elven dialect neither of them had understood, despite knowing decent Sindarin. Perhaps he could ask that elf, Tauriel, to translate it. Still, he paged through it and gazed at the pictures. Suddenly, one caught his eye.

It was a portrait, and though the drawn hair was smoother than the wild curls he had seen moments before, it was obviously the face of the elf in the company. Well now he would need to ask her about it, blast his curiosity.

As the night went on, the company separated into the spare rooms, spreading out bedrolls to account for the small number of beds. Still too full of nervous energy to sleep, Bilbo paced through his room and study.

_It'll be so simple. You're happy here, just tell them that and send them on their way._

So much danger. People he'd only known a few hours, and who already mattered so much to him, facing that danger alone while he sat with his tomatoes and pipeweed. Gandalf had said the quest wouldn't succeed without him taking the Arkenstone, whatever that was. It was nice to feel needed, but no, he couldn't go. That was his decision. 

He looked at the contract again.

"Sleepless night?" As his head shot up, he spotted the elleth hunched in the doorframe. "I heard you pacing." He nearly took offense to that, hobbits were quite quiet creatures, but it was difficult to be angry at such a quiet voice, and his mind was otherwise occupied.

Bilbo looked back to the parchment and swallowed, though his throat was dry. "This quest," He started. "Is it worth it?"

"How do you define worth?" Her eyes were watching the fire, unnaturally reflective. "This journey is fierce. I will not lie to you, it may take your life. Do you weigh benefits and risks? Or do you see a need and rise to aid?" She squatted to be eye-level with Bilbo. "This is not your fight,  _penneth_. Nor is it mine. We are not tied to Thorin as king. If you fear this path, you may turn from it without retribution."

"I mean to you. You just said yourself you owe him nothing-"

"I owe him a great deal. It is merely that he has my loyalty by choice, not duty."

He tried not to show his irritation at being cut off. "What earns him that loyalty?"

A shadow crossed over her face. "The world shifts. Powers trapped for millenia stir. Creatures who have slept since a bygone age will take their places again. Without allies, we are at risk. Thorin deserves to be king, yes; but I help him because if I don't," She chuckled darkly. "I'm afraid our fate is rich orcs for neighbors."

When he didn't respond, she turned to go. "Wait!" He flinched at the loudness of his own voice, stark against the night though he hadn't raised it much. He snatched the book from before from where it was on his desk, pointing to the picture he had found. "I... Wanted to ask you about this. It's you, isn't it? Why are you in here?"

Tauriel's fists clenched as the fire crackled louder and a look of bitter regret clouded her eyes. "You'll see soon enough, I suppose." She raised an eyebrow and baited. "If you come with us."

He scoffed and slid a mark into the book. He had lived in Hobbiton long enough to know when someone was dodging a topic. Especially when they looked like a faunt caught swiping a carrot from the neighbor's garden. Nevertheless, he bid her goodnight and let it drop.

One more glance at the blank line.

_You'll never forgive yourself._

**•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•**

As was his habit, Bilbo woke early the next morning, the conversation still ringing in his ears. Making his way to the kitchen, he carefully tread past the rooms where the company was sleeping.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the Exiled King gazing out of his kitchen window. Thorin glanced over at the him when he cleared his throat, but otherwise made no move.

Deciding against painfully awkward conversation, he bustled around gathering things for breakfast, occasionally enlisting Thorin's help.  _"Hold this bowl, please," "Could you grab me those eggs?"_  It was terribly domestic, though Bilbo tried his best not to think about it. He had plenty of troubles without fantasizing about a  _king_ , thank you.

The rest of the company were awoken shortly by the smell of eggs and ham from the kitchen. Most of them eagerly dug into the ham and bacon piled high on several platters, save for one with a wild beard who grunted gratefully as Bilbo handed him a bowl of fresh vegetables. Thorin murmured his quiet thanks, with what might pass as a hint of a smile, as he sat with his family to eat. Tauriel looked delighted when Bilbo set down a large bowl of fresh rolls and breads.

The company had let out a cheer when Balin announced that Bilbo was officially a member, startling him a bit, but warming his heart nonetheless.

Bofur, the hatted dwarf, seemed content to chat Bilbo's ear off on the way to the Green Dragon, where they evidently had several ponies.

"That's me brother over there, Bombur. I live with him 'n Bifur, that's our cousin, over in the Blue Mountains. Though, I do expect if we don't die on this, I may jus' get my own place. Mahal knows 'e and Asta need the room! I tell ya, he's got three little pebbles already, and one on the way!" Bofur seemed to swell with pride. "Incredible, really. 'N he's a great Da to the little ones."

"It's Asta who does most of the work." Bombur had slowed a bit to join their conversation. "'M at the kitchen's most o' the day, and she's taking care o' the little ones. I wanted to stay wif her for the next one, but she said she'd cuff me good 'n sound if I missed a chance like this or acted like she needed help."

Bilbo chuckled a little at that; Asta sounded quite like dear Bell Gamgee. "She sounds lovely."

"Aye, she is." Bombur was practically glowing. "Met her 'most 70 years ago, married not much later. When our Brenna came, Asta handled the birth better than some of the healers!"

"She's handled the rest well, too," Bofur piped in again. "Takes a strong lady t' have so many, and they might even have more after this!" He clapped his brother on the shoulder.

"Is four an uncommon number for dwarves?" Hobbits, of course, bred like rabbits, but he knew men generally had about 2.

Bofur scratched his head. "Aye, I'd say most who have children have 'bout two or three, but most dams suffer terribly with them. 'S why Bombur's so lucky, his missus is strong as they come. How many do hobbits have? 'F y'don't mind me sayin,' you're not quite as, ah, sturdy as dwarves."

"Well, it depends on the family really. My father had four siblings, but my mother had eleven."

"ELEVEN?" Bofur's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Your grandmother had TWELVE children?!"

"Well, it's a bit unreasonable, even for a hobbit. I'd say most have about six."

Bofur looked like he was going into shock. " _Six_? On average?"  
  
Bilbo was spared from a more uncomfortable conversation when they arrived at the Green Dragon. Each of the company had a pony, and Bilbo was shown to another, thankfully smaller than the rest, though still as tall as him at the shoulders. He tried to remember how he had seen the others get on.

He tried to fit his foot into the stirrup, but from such an angle it would have been difficult even if it had been made for a hobbit, and not a dwarf. 

"Not much of a rider?" It was the elf. Tauriel! That was her name. He briefly thought that she wouldn't be able to ride a pony, with how tall she was.

"Not really much need to, in the Shire." He laughed nervously, shifting on his feet which now felt grossly oversized looking at the stirrups.

She hummed to herself for a moment. All of a sudden, his feet left the ground and he was being placed on the horse. A tiny squeak escaped his lips. Tauriel smiled a bit and walked off. 

"Everything will be alright in your absence?"

Bilbo glanced up at Thorin, who had circled his pony. "I asked Hamfast to take care of Bag End. He's a good friend of mine. Knows to keep the Sackville-Bagginses out." (They may have put the spoons behind them but he trusted her as far as he could throw her). He would miss his friend greatly, if this quest was truly as long as they said. Well, he'd think on that later. He'd barely left, no time yet for homesickness. He cleared his throat. "I left a note to my cousin asking him to manage the estate until my return. Everything should be alright."

"I'm glad to hear it," He offered, before looking with a half-smile at how awkwardly Bilbo was attempting to grip the reigns, and how low the stirrups hung under his hairy feet. "That one's calm, she'll just follow the one in front of her. You don't need to worry."

Bilbo might have told him that being told not to worry was no comfort, but he was preoccupied with worrying about falling off a pony which looked much taller when you were riding it.

A sharp whistle pulled his attention away. As he looked up, he saw Tauriel watching the woods, where suddenly-

The largest horse he had ever seen burst from the trees. A gleaming bay coat, flowing mane, as tall as Tauriel at the shoulders, though she easily leapt on with no saddle or bridle. 

Bilbo swallowed the lump in his throat. This would be stranger than he had thought.

**•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•**

Bilbo missed Bree. He hadn't minded sleeping on a bedroll the first two nights in the Shire, but one last taste of homeliness before leaving for the Wilderland had made him realize what he was getting himself into. Thankfully, he had been able to procure a thick cloak in the town, as the late-spring rains were rolling in full force.

With the rain, the dwarves were having trouble lighting logs for the fire. Bilbo was just turning to offer a word of advice when he saw a sudden large blaze, surrounded by Tauriel, Thorin, and a dwarf with a large red beard.

By the time Bilbo had managed to pull the bedroll from his pack, everyone else was gathered around the fire in the middle of camp. Looking at the company, still strangers really if he was sticking to conventional ways of thinking, he doubted he would be able to fall asleep. At some point, after they had all eaten and most of the dwarves had fallen asleep, He faintly heard a song in a low, feminine voice.

As he listened, the weariness of the day washed over him, pulling him towards sleep before he even knew what happened. 

Contrary to some rumors, elves do sleep. Eyes open or shut is a matter of personal preference. The Caliquendi in particular tended to sleep with open eyes; her father had done so as long as she could remember. She herself, a Moriquendi who preferred peaceful darkness, kept her eyes shut tight, which likely spared her companions from an awful fright.

At least, most of the time. The visions that haunted her dreams were not shut out as easily as light.

Bilbo awoke to an ear-splitting screech. He sat up, trying to blink the blurriness out of his eyes when he saw the source.

Tauriel stumbled around where she had rested on the roots of a tree, eyes wide and unfocused. She seemed to be murmuring to herself. He caught a few Sindarin words, but most were strange and slurred together.

A few of the dwarves had risen to try to grab her, but she turned and fled into the Old Forest.   
To Bilbo's shock, the company seemed mostly unshocked with this. Some frowned in the direction she had run, but most began packing their bedrolls, as the sun was on the rise.

"What was that?" He asked to no one in particular. 

"Oh, her?"  _No, the weather!_  He shot a quite angry but tragically unnoticed look at Nori. "She'll be alright. Has nightmares, y'know? Bad memories."

"Of what?"

Nori furrowed his brow. "We don't exactly know. Something bad, a long time ago, when she left her family. She won't talk about it, but we think it's something to do with her... powers."

"Powers?" Bilbo asked, suddenly a bit quavery. 

"Di'you see how she lit the fire last night? Comes right out of her hand. Someth'n else, too. Ah don' know what, but she's hidin' somethin'."

"Hm." Was all the poor little hobbit could muster. His mother had said that the rumors about elves' powers were mere stories.

"She'll be back followin' us when we get goin' again." He cast Bilbo a sidelong glance. "Don' go mentioning it to her, alright? Tha' stuff's private. We all got stuff like that."

Yes, he had been right.

This was certainly going to be a stranger quest than he had imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... did not intend for this chapter to get this long, so my apologies. On the bright side, more Silmarillion characters in next month's chapter!


	9. Doriath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is less a chapter, and more a collection of short scenes, but it covers a long period of time and gives some backstory.

**First Age: 11**

Calambar  _hated_ ice.

He had had lost of time to ponder deep thoughts whilst crossing the Helcaraxë, but that was the only one that stuck. He hated it. That damned ice, the wretched cold that had taken his mother, that had almost taken his baby brother, that was the visual, physical, proof of how they had abandoned their kin of Aman.

It was ice that the creatures in his nightmares breathed. It was snow that was the form of his regret and shame. It was cold that ran its clawed hand down his spine as it stole sleep from him.

The rest of the Noldor had chosen to settle north, to be closer to the enemy and their gems. But Calambar, Liantassë, and their father had decided to lead a small party south to Doriath.

They were through with the wars of the Noldor.

At first, only a small group had gone, to plead pardon to Thingol. By the grace of the Valar, he had accepted, on the condition that any who wished to seek a home in Doriath must forswear the Noldor, and join completely with the Sindar.

For Calambar, it was a  _gift_.

He took his Sindarin name and wore it as a badge of pride.  _Vigorous Spring_ , they called him. His brother, once Liantassë, was named Glorious Day. Their father bore the name of Tall Beech-Tree. More than any other of the Noldor refugees, Calambar welcomed the shunning of Noldor culture, doing his best do put from his mind the sight of the trees and the language of his people.

Calambar hated ice, but the Sindar had warmth to spare

**•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•** **  
  
First Age: 13**

Those who had been in the first parlay caravan had returned seemingly taken by the beauty of Luthien, waxing poetic about ice-blue eyes and flowing black hair. But Calambar- _Thranduil_ , he was Thranduil now. Thranduil could only find beauty in one sight, which he saw mere days after the King had accepted him.

Thranduil had been wandering the forest, still not quite adjusted to living inside Menegroth, still preferring the trees to the stone, still a little bit homesick. He had just taken rest under a wisteria vine when he heard singing.

A carefree song, so happy that it lifted his downtrodden soul. Without realizing what he was doing, almost as if drawn by some strange, invisible hand, he followed the voice.

He recognized her instantly: Arvuin, daughter of Thingol. As she saw him, she slowed her words, holding out her hand and smiling as he tentatively joined in the chorus. She took his hands in her own, pulling him into a dance as they kept singing.

She lifted a hand to his cheek, astonished. He smiled as he felt it; the scar across his cheek from the trek across the ice had vanished, a small part of his fëa healed just from sharing a song with her.

"Elenathiel," He murmured, taking her hand again and twirling her around. He couldn't help but call her that, in the absence of the moon that night the stars had decided to wreathe their light into her hair.

"Thranduil," She acknowledged, a lovely smile gracing her lips, speaking with such a genuine, slightly humorous voice that he didn't even question how she knew his name.

From that night on, the only sight he could deem lovely was curling brown hair and eyes the color of freshly-tilled earth. 

 

**•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•**

**First Age: 12**

"I can wield a blade as well, I would defend the land that has offered us refuge." Thranduil argued, his brother nodding in agreement.

Oropher shook his head. "I will not allow either of my sons to risk themselves-"

"We risked ourselves when we left Aman! Was the Grinding Ice no risk to you?" Aglarad burst out uncharacteristically. "Atar, whether you would allow it or not, we are risking ourselves by being here. Thingol has offered us sanctuary, serving in the guard would only be just payment."

Oropher shook his head, but finally conceded.

Thranduil and his brother were placed together in the guard. Thingol took into account Oropher's natural leadership, and gave him a small command in his army. Each of them, with their skills from the Noldor, rose quickly through the ranks, until soon the others forgot there was ever a time they were not Sindar.

 

**•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•**

**First Age: 467**

"Thranduil. I must speak with you." The Sinda who had been speaking with Thranduil quickly departed with the approach of Thingol.

"Is something wrong, my king?" The young Noldo asked respectfully, though his heart was beating so loudly he was sure the king could hear it. 

"Do not take me for a fool, Thranduil," Thingol said sharply. "I know you hold love for my daughter, Arvuin. And I know she returns it." He sighed and sat on a carved bench, rubbing his hand over his crowned brow and gripping the gem on his short staff. Suddenly, the kingly facade was broken, and he looked so very tired. "Luthien... My daughter is dead, Thranduil. Dead for grief of her love, whose death I caused in my foolish quest to save her from her own love. I have lost one daughter, I cannot lose another. Nor can I bear to deny love again. You have my blessing, Thranduil. Marry Arvuin. Bring her joy. Protect her." 

"My Lord, I..." Thranduil trailed off. "On this great forest I swear, I will not let any harm come to Arvuin. I hold her slightest whim above any need of mine. She is, to me, greater than the gems for which my people traveled to these shores, worth more than any sum of gold or silver could convey, and greater and more beautiful than the sea and the stars." He could have gone on more, but Thingol held up a hand to silence him.

"You have already convinced me that you love her, I needed nothing but my eyes to see that." A dark look overtook the small mirth on the king's face. "I fear for this kingdom. Something deep in my heart tells me that a danger we cannot weather will soon come. I... have given orders to your father to lead my armies if our protection goes awry."

A cold dread closed its hand over Thranduil's heart. "My Lord, surely whatever force may threaten us from Morgoth, we could stand against it."

Thingol's eyes were unfocused. "I pray you are right."

 

**•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•**

**First Age: 587**

"Aglarad!" 

Thranduil pushed forwards, wading through bodies of elves and orcs alike. The battle was an endless tide. Attack and gain ground, retreat and lose it again. 42 years since the Valar had finally joined the fight. 42 years of constant war, of angelic beings tearing each other apart at the expense of an entire continent. 

All they had to show for this war was a swath of ruin along the crumbling shore of what was once Beleriand. The only semblance of hope were the snowflakes that drifted lazily from the skies, seemingly unaware of the battle raging below them. Their enemy's stronghold lay within the frozen north, and the biting cold was the only proof of their advancement.

Another gust of wind nearly sent Thranduil to the ground. He looked towards his brother again, gasping in shock. Aglarad fought like a demon, using his powers to make a churning cyclone around him, throwing his enemies of their feet and into his blade.

As the brothers fought towards each other, another wind stirred the air. More rhythmic, and much more powerful.

Cries of alarm were taken up among the elven front.

"Dragons!"

Fire rained down. The smell of scorched flesh stung Thranduil's nose and eyes. He could see wings larger than any he had imagined as the columns of flame struck down closer and closer.

Thranduil looked up. A gaping, fanged mouth glowed from within. He smelled sulfur.

"Calambar!"

Heat burst all around him, scorching his arm and melting his flesh as he turned his head away from the dragons breath. From above him, an  _agonized_  scream rang out.

Thranduil forced open his eyes, finding with horror that only one could obey. He saw his arm first, the silver armor scorched and melted so he could not tell what was metal or skin. Then he saw what was lying next to him. 

He screamed as he saw the warped, melted armor of his little brother, contorted almost beyond recognition. Liantassë's face was a mass of burns and blisters, nearly exposing the bone beneath.

There was no ragged breath from smoke, no begging for help, no shuddering from the pain of burns. Not even the slightest move from his little brother.

Nothing except stillness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Characters/Names in this Chapter
> 
> Elenathiel - "Maiden Crowned with the Host of Stars" Name given by Thranduil to Arvuin
> 
> Arvuin - "Lady of the Morning" Also named Elenathiel, princess of Doriath, second daughter of Elu Thingol
> 
> Calambar - "Light-Fated" Also named Thranduil, a Noldo who crossed the Helcaraxë, son of Finisca, older brother of Liantassë, married Arvuin in the Second Age
> 
> Finisca - "Pale Haired" Also named Oropher, a Noldo who crossed the Helcaraxë, husband of Aimenal, father of Calambar and Liantassë
> 
> Liantassë - "Vine" Also named Aglarad, a Noldo who crossed the Helcaraxë, son of Finisca, younger brother of Calambar, killed in the final battles of the War of Wrath
> 
> Aimenal - "Lark" Wife of Finisca, mother of Calambar and Liantassë, killed while crossing the Helcaraxë with her family
> 
>  
> 
> This month's chapter is coming a bit early. I'm sorry to say this, but I likely won't be posting again until August. The computer I mainly use for this has to be returned for the summer, but I'll update again as soon as I have it back. Thanks for enjoying BIBAF so far!


End file.
